Maybe I Need You
by softer
Summary: "Maybe I need you the way that big moon needs that open sea." For AC, Happy Birthday.


**I have no idea where this came from or what it means. Set in the future-ish. **

**For AC, Happy Birthday. Stay cute.**

* * *

She finds him in Central Park.

The cold December wind whips around her thin frame and pushes her closer to where he sits, on a wooden picnic bench perched in the very corner of a steep hill. Right where he said he'd be.

He's hunched over his moleskin travelers journal, the one he's always got hidden away somewhere, just in reach. For every gadget and app he raves over, she finds he always ends up with a pen between his fingers and paper beneath his palm.

The entire park unfolds in his view – a jungle gym with children dressed in huge jackets that make them look like multi-colored jet-puffed marshmallows. Men play chess at the public tables, breaths mingling above the board. Joggers, bikers, a few photographers. A good deal of tourists. Teenagers littering the large rocks that dot the park like trees.

"Hell of a view," Kate greets him, and she can hear his pen pause above the paper.

He doesn't turn but waits until she settles beside him on the bench, hands leaving the warmth of her pockets in favor of finding his, lacing their fingers together.

"I come here to get away," he says, finally, his breath billowing out in front of him. Her fingers squeeze, reflexively, and his head drops. "Not– not from you," he amends. He looks up to see her smiling, weakly.

"From what?" she asks him, warily, watching him watch their hands. He smiles, deprecatingly, and takes there interlaced hands into his coat pocket, wrapping them in warmth.

"The present tense?" He says it like an admission, but it sounds more like a question. He does this sometimes, falters when the words he finds first aren't the right ones. "It's just a refreshing change to be able to observe without interacting."

She smiles, stronger this time, and nods. She gets that.

"See there?" He pulls on her hand again, lifting it from his pocket to point their joined hands at the playground. She hums her recognition.

"That's the first time you thought about marrying me," he finishes, the grin in his voice, in his breath.

Their hands drop, unceremoniously, and she faces him, appalled. "It most certainly was _not." _

"Hm no?" He replies, cooly. "Before that then?"

She scoots closer, pushing their hands back into his pocket, careful not to catch her ring against the fabric. "Castle that was the second case we ever worked. I pretty much hated you. I really _really _didn't want to marry you."

"Fine, deny it," he scoffed, feigning indifference. "It's a good thing I'm persistent."

"Annoying."

"Charming."

"Incessant."

"Determined," he squeezes her hand, a reminder, and she huffs in defeat, her body rocking sideways into his. "Admit it, you had the hots for me, even then."

"Doesn't mean I didn't hate you."

"You said something along the lines of 'kind of nice,' if I do recall."

"Do you remember everything?" She asks him, tearing her eyes away from the view to watch his profile. He ducks his head, slightly, seems determined to avoid her gaze. As if he's embarrassed by his answer.

"Yes."

She shifts closer, pushing her nose into his neck until she can find the skin beneath the scarf. The hand that's not in his pocket comes to grip his arm, anchoring herself to his side.

"I love that about you, you know," she murmurs, right into his ear so she's sure he hears it. "You remember it all."

"I remember you were totally into the 'mister mom' angle."

"Oh, so you were working an angle, were you?" She nestles further into his body, drawn by his warmth.

"It was an attempt at honesty, actually," he admits. She doesn't want that hint of disappointment in his tone, those traces of deprecation.

"You're right, I was totally into it." She feels his smile against her temple, wants to feel it against her mouth. But she waits.

"Now we just need to get started on all those Castle babies you said you wanted with me."

"I _so _did not say that, stop putting words in my mouth."

"Ah, my dear detective, but your lack of denial said more than any words could. All I could hear was you not-denying it. I don't even remember what you said, you were not-denying it so loudly."

She bumps her body against his again, lifting her chin so that her mouth could catch his in a warming kiss. "I love you," she whispers it against his lips, watches her breath between them.

"I love you, too," he whispers back, like it's their secret.

"Let's get out of the cold, Castle. Let's go back to the present."

* * *

**Inspired by "Birthday" by Andrea Gibson. Title shamelessly stolen from the same poet. **


End file.
